


With the Right Words, I'll Bear Fluorescent Lights

by CraigTuckerish



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, It's all in the summary basically, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2080335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CraigTuckerish/pseuds/CraigTuckerish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clear learned to grow up and face his mortal dysphoria. He got a job at Heibon, an apartment of his own, and a best friend to share it with. But when his friend stops coming by, and all but disappears from Clear's life, he then has to learn to live alone. Again.</p><p>At least he can focus on becoming human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With the Right Words, I'll Bear Fluorescent Lights

**Author's Note:**

> THERE ARE TWO CHAPTER TRACKS BECAUSE I COULDN'T DECIDE but they're both by the same artist. Please check out great acoustic songs that have been featured on Scrubs LOL
> 
> I should probably stop writing so much NoiCle, but I'm not going to :') please dont hate me lmao

**Chapter Track:[Overkill- Colin Hay](http://hwcdn.libsyn.com/p/0/c/c/0cc4755c42feaa94/overkill.mp3?c_id=1711789&expiration=1407180290&hwt=3bf92a04280b8d77dd157b6ee66ccf73) and [Beautiful World- Colin Hay](http://ranger.befunk.com/music/ftp/random/Various%20Artists/Scrubs%20Soundtrack/07%20Beautiful%20%20World%20\(Colin%20Hay\).mp3)**

_Alone between the sheets_  
 _Only brings exasperation_  
 _It's time to walk the streets_  
 _Smell the desperation_  
  
 _At least there's pretty lights_  
 _And though there's little variation_  
 _It nullifies the night  
_ _from overkill_

 

* * *

 

I've started to hate standing in the middle of this tiny bathroom now, you know.

We've both always hated how ugly fluorescent lights made us look. They pronounce the bags under your eyes, and the lack there of under mine. You once scoffed and said 'I'd rather shit in the dark than look at myself in that mirror', and I'd laugh when you actually would. I didn't really put together the joke and the low self image. We had that in common.

But I guess now I just hate them because they plaster the whole room with a murky, uneasy glow. These light fixtures are dated and unclean; They have vague shadows speckled and piled up to show how many bugs had crawled in there and died. It's disgusting. This apartment was never accused of being high-rate, but it's the fabrication of 'home' that makes me uncomfortable.

I still have this weird, understanding contempt with artificial things.

The clock hanging over the toilet says 3:44 AM, and I'm admittedly a little worried. You don't live with me, I know, but you've jokingly said 'you might as well be', so I guess I've become a little clingy and expectant (Even though I understand that at this point, your presence only comes in splotches).

Although that it's pointless to ring your coil when you're out, I tried until 2 AM. You have it turned off, so it took me directly to voice mail each time.

Standing in my tiny bathroom, of the apartment you and Aoba aided me to afford, I've been staring at my reflection. I do this a lot, I mean, I only just recently learned to live without my mask. My face is still so new. But this nauseating yellow glow is already making me find things that are wrong with my lips. And my eyes. And the two dots on my chin. Why did I let your compliments lure me away from my comfort zone? You had to have been lying when you said my eyes are pretty, but I appreciate the goodwill anyway.

Sadly, nights when you don't come back are usually spent like this; Brutal self critiques of both appearance and character. I won't lie to you, I have a terrible habit of leaking tears in my bed on these evenings. I'm just not used to being alone anymore, and sometimes I wonder if it hurts humans like it hurts me. The churning in whatever lines my stomach, I mean. The loneliness seems to do that.

I also wonder if you stray away because I annoy you like I used to. With this spike in human contact over the past year, I've become all too aware of my coarse enthusiasm. Too loud. Too quirky. I'd learned to dial it down so you'd be friends with me. It was originally a ploy to maybe win Aoba's affections. I had become a little jealous when some other man had swept him off his feet, and I wanted to show that I could be just as appealing as him.

It ultimately failed, but you had caught my attention before I cared. You eyed me with conviction that I was going to step into your wake whether I liked it or not, and seizing me into your party, you abruptly declared me your friend. I had no say in the matter, but I never once opposed to it. Sure, you liked gory movies and had a dry sense of humor, but you took me seriously. You never simplyamused my ramblings, but invested yourself in them. In fact, it was you who analyzed me, and told me that I was just like a jellyfish.

You said it was because _jellyfish were almost completely water, but not quite. I was almost completely human, but not quite_. It oddly made me feel better about myself.

"Also, they don't have a brain." You snorted as an after thought. Impolite.

But after the apartment, and the simple job at Heibon, and the scattered simple things that kept me interested in you, you started to invite yourself over. Not that I minded, because that's what friends do. You would do maintenance on me when I was feeling iffy, because that's what friends do. I'd let you keep your food in my fridge, because that's what friends do.

I wanted to kiss you before too long, but that's apparently not what friends do. So I didn't.

But then you started doing these things. Staying for a week, grinning with me, only to disappear for two days. Coming back in the middle of the night. Saying goodbye after breakfast. Smiling for me before fading off into some unknown allies where Koujaku said the ne'er do wells and squatters live. It once came to a point where I would venture to these parts on my own, searching for you. Most nights I went home empty handed, but few times I had found you amoung groups of strangers passing you weird things. You were never smiling, just folding and unfolding your hands with an overly-alert look on your face. These allies were a painful array of neon lights sporting warm pinks and blues. They made you look even more drowned into a scene I didn't belong in, or ever hope to keep your body from trembling in. You'd never go home with me. You'd assure me I was fine, and waved me away.

Since then, I've worried more and more.

When you'd come back to me with black eyes, bloody noses, sometimes missing piercings, of course I'd hurry you inside. Of course I would mildly have an episode, scrambling with a meek first-aid kit to get you fixed up, ignoring your weak arguments to leave you be. At first you would let me ease your skinned patches, staring blankly at me while I worked. Your version of a puppy dog stare that I'd never been able to ignore.

You had asked once why I even bothered owning a first aid kid, given my status as almost, but not human. I didn't want to admit that I had gotten it solely to relieve your injuries, so I lied and said  _it makes me feel better_.

That seemed to work. You were surprisingly sensitive to my dysphoria.

The wild eyes that you had followed you into my apartment at some time. Your eyes were quaking and two sizes too big. Your legs shook as well, forbidding any sort of efficient walking without stumbling right into the wall. I would have to pay special attention, lest you try and leave and fall flat on your face. The alcohol swabs were swatted away bitterly, with that grimace on your face that I hadn't seen directed at me for a long, long time. I tried to ignore it. You were just fuzzy, and would eventually let me help like always.

"Please, you're bleeding a lot this time." I begged, trying to get you to allow a gauze below your collar bone. It was such a deep cut. I was always too scared to ask what had happened though. You only grunted.

"You come back so late. It worries me." I said.

You scoffed at me with a morose smirk. "At least I  _come back,_ Clear."

I noticed your usual clumsy smile was intoxicated with the rest of you. The smile you make when you want to fight was aimed at me. That slurred voice you display when you're incoherent stuck to your accent.

"Please don't." I said firmly.

With that, you shouted "Would you _fuck off_ for once, Clear? Fucking Christ you're so goddamn dense." and thrashed your way past me. You struggled to do so, but you threw the front door open, not even being able to close it. I tried to get you, but you had slung yourself against the inner elevator walls, and seemingly slid down into the floor. So sick. I'm sorry I could only watch the doors close and carry you to the ground.

That's the first time I remember crying over you, or remembering I had the ability to cry at all.

But when you came, I let you back in. That lopsided smile of yours enveloped me whole, and whether you knew it or not, I forgave you because you couldn't help yourself. Koujaku would turn his nose up at you, with the rumors circulating that you had officially become a scumbag. But he's wrong, you know? He didn't see the face you made when apologizing. That was what separated me from the others. I didn't listen to rumors with your name anywhere in them.

"That guy just doesn't make any sense." Aoba sighed once, after I explained it on a shift we shared. You'd only been gone for a couple of days.

That, I didn't understand. I was there with gauze and Neosporin, crying just for the fact you were okay. Aoba wasn't. I saw the 'sense' leak from your nose and the cuts on your arms, all while you heaved your 'sense' into the toilet and sloshing the words 'I'm so sorry' back and forth. You made plenty of sense, just in ways we couldn't expect people like Aoba and Koujaku to understand.

So I left the conversation at that, and ran back to the apartment to unlock my door for you. Because we're both only kids at heart. Your childhood might have gushed out in the form of violence and mind-altering substances that I didn't want to hear about, but you were still you. And all you is good you.

You're just sad, is all. That's okay.

I've come to love you, so I accept that my love alone wouldn't take your aimless rage away from you. That's what I have to do in order to stand front and center with a bed and sober company for you.

But truthfully, it's times like this I wish I could sleep. The sun is rising, and the fifth day with no sign of you is nigh. But I trust you. You've left your DVDs here, as well as your toothbrush and carrot-printed boxers. I work today, so I eventually have to haul myself up from bed and painfully notice how monotonous I am with getting ready. A gear inside me has been skipping for a day or two. I'll wait for your return to get it fixed, but now it just serves as a reminder of my mechanical movements.

Since I'm only a cleaning employee, I'm obligated to a bright blue apron with "Junk Shop Heibon" on it. The ease I have with tying it bothers me. You say blue is my colour, but I beg to differ.

I extract my keys while putting shoes on, but I'm feeling a little hopeful today. So I'll keep my door unlocked.

 

* * *

 

It's been a month since I last saw you.

Koujaku, Aoba, and his boyfriend (Ren, I've learned) have told me to stop hoping for your return. Because you won't, they say. They're complete unreasonable when I give them the reasons that you have to come back. Your movies. Your clothes. Toothbrush. Maybe your friend.

And it might have not helped a lot when I confided in them that my feelings for you pushed beyond the platonic stage. That had elicited a sort of sympathy from them I didn't like. From that point, I was only a baby to coddle. Like you had blown through me as some sort of trauma.

 _"Clear, you can do so much better. You don't deserve to be treated that way."_ Aoba insisted.

 _"He's been an asshole since you met him, and he'll be an asshole for the rest of your life. It's better for you to move on."_ Koujaku added with his harsh bias towards you.

 _"You have every right to be happy. I think you deserve to live for more than one person, Clear."_   Ren said, being nothing but factual.

I didn't see why they victimized me, when you were the one they should have been worried about. I trust that your way with words had seeped into somebody else's pores, granting you somewhere safe to be. I hoped that. I really needed you to be safe, for both our sakes.

But hopefully you'll be a little proud to know that I'm functioning without you. I'm prying thoughts of the drugs and the colourful-but-dirty allies form my memory and only focusing on three things: Work, Rent, and blending in. With no real hobbies, I started to dig through your DVD collection and watch things I've seen you watch. I know  _A Clockwork Orange_ was your favourite, but I really like  _Rango_ the best.

Watching either reminds me of monday nights with pizza and commentary.

I won't ever claim I don't miss you. I still leave my door unlocked on days I'm feeling lucky. Even though luck never comes my way, it still makes me smile a little throughout the day; The thought of coming home and having you on the floor shoving junk food in your mouth like your life depended on it.

And, I still think about kissing you. I always slightly wished I could feel how your studs would feel when pressed against my skin.

So no matter how much 'moving on' Aoba and company wants me to do, I'll never find myself without marginally hoping you'd be proud of me and my useless keys.

 

* * *

 

Today, I decided to skip work, take a train, and see a movie I had heard about on the radio. Aoba agreed with a smile, that this was just what I needed, and Haga-San applauded that I hadn't missed a shift for _two solid years_ , and easily let me by; So work was no problem to skip out on.

I'm taking the earliest train, since sleep is for purely recreation, and I only do it when I feel down. Not today, though; I even locked my front door and dropped by a coffee shop for pure comfort. Coffee doesn't do anything for me, but it's custom to buy some early in the morning if you're awake, so that's just what I do. Plus, with vanilla, it's ungodly delicious.

If you're wondering, I'm a moderately happy person right now. With sadness comes humanity, I've discovered. My dysphoria still creeps around, but I'm able to outrun it for long period of time this way. With the pity of Aoba backing me up, I'm able to ignore it and become the closest to human I ever have been. Never mind that Aoba says it's because you were holding me back, I think it was you who granted this to me.

We can't be happy until we're devastated. We can't be human until we're broken from constant obedience.

The walk to the train station was fun. With my casual attire now only consisting of jackets and skinny jeans, I blend in perfectly. I can't help but smile when people ignore me, as I sip on my coffee and watch the sun in its still progressing rise.

The station was mostly empty when I arrived, save a woman who sold me my ticket.

"What's the occasion?" she asked.

"A movie. The new one they're all talking about!" I replied readily.

"You seem very happy about it, young man. I hope you like it." my grin rubbed off on her as she handed me my pass. And she was right. I was very, very happy to be living as a person, doing nothing more than taking a train. Sitting by myself as people began to scatter themselves is therapeutic for me. I blend in. I'm no longer the town dunce.

I'm finally part of the population.

But, today, I saw a man that looked just like you.

His hair is a beautiful translucent blonde, his hands are dug in his pockets as he walked, and he looks bored with everything. Unlike you, he's wearing this very formal suit. He has no metal on his face. He doesn't feel the need to have a hat on his head.

He's exiting the train that comes before mine. At first, I try not to stare, but I can't help it. You're attractive. He's attractive. What can I say?

When he turns around, he also started staring. His eyes widen, with a terrible pink coating his face. That, in turn, made me feel self conscious, so I redirect my gaze the cement in front of me and forget about it.

But he's walking up to me. I see it out the corner of my eye, and fruitlessly try to will him away.

"Hey," they say.

I lock eyes with you, and easily remember that I lied about moving on. You're still an inch shorter than me. You still roll your tongue in your cheek when you're nervous. You still have the green around your pupils that I'm an idiot for. _  
_

The human tale of tingling nostrils lets me know that I need to be careful; I might actually cry. My smile is one of uneasy turmoil, but renders me defenseless.

"Hi," I say.

You shuffle your feet into the ground, adjusting your tie, doing just about anything to not look me in the eyes again. For now, I'm not going to ask where the suit came from. I won't question the missing piercings, or hat, or why the hell you didn't bother getting in touch with me if you're obviously healthy.

But you're healthy. And I needed that.

So my arms curl around you and squeeze you into my embrace. You smell so much nicer now (I suspect expensive cologne). And I know you hate being touched, so I'll apologize in a second. When your arms are returning the favour, though, and we're simply-- hugging. No space between us. I thought about this a lot.

It's quiet before you say, "I'm sorry."

I don't notice I'm crying until I try to speak, only to rasp a weak "I missed you."

You pull back, just enough to look at my eyes now; your unwavering stare has unchanged. Despite your dry lids, I know your heart is beating fast, because I can feel it and see it on your cheeks.

Catching me off guard, you kiss me.

Part of me always thought your kiss would be spiteful and hard; Maybe the taste of stale inebriation lodged in your teeth. But I was so, so wrong. Your lips are soft. I'm a little sad to know the studs I had thought so fondly of are gone, but it's alright. It's you. And you taste like mints and black coffee. I probably only taste like sugary milk.

I don't even care that my train is here. It's 8 AM, my door is locked, I have the day off work, and you're kissing me. No movie could be as good as this.

This time, when we break our contact, you're smiling. That crooked beam I had succumbed to so many times isn't a vice anymore. It's an amazing feeling that hits me like bricks, and finally brings me at ease.

Maybe this is what friends do.

With a little bit of luck that's long overdue, friends sigh and say "I love you." into the other's skin.

They hold their friends close, and whisper "I love you, too."

Because it's true.

I've always loved you, Noiz.

 

* * *

 

  _And still this emptiness persists  
_ _Perhaps this is as good as it gets  
_ _When you've given up the drink, a_ _nd those nasty cigarettes_

_Now I leave the party early, at least with no regrets_   
_I watch the sun as it comes up, I watch it as it sets_   
_Yeah, this is as good as it gets_

 

**END**


End file.
